


Time Warp

by galaxyostars



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Resistance (Cartoon), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cassian Andor knows whats up, Crash Landing, Droids in danger, Handcuffs, Injury, Lightning storm in space, Minor Injuries, Not Beta Read, Poe Dameron is a crafty bastard, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Post-The Mandalorian (S1), Pre-Rogue One, Running, Space Flight, The Mandalorian is amused by these two crazy people and just wants to see what happens, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: Cassian’s nose crinkled ever so slightly, and he drew his gaze away from the darkened landscape. “I am Captain Cassian Andor. I serve Rebel Alliance Intelligence.”“Rebel Alliance Intelligence,” Poe repeated, leaning back in the chair. He rubbed at the scruff growing at his cheeks and considered his words carefully. “Captain… what if I told you that the Rebel Alliance Intelligence was dissolved roughly thirty years ago?”-----A pilot, a spy, and a bounty hunter end up in the same time period together...
Relationships: BB-8 & Poe Dameron, Cassian Andor & Din Djarin, Cassian Andor & K-2SO, Poe Dameron & Cassian Andor, Poe Dameron & K-2SO
Comments: 33
Kudos: 320





	1. 35 ABY

**Author's Note:**

> [I blame this post.](https://galaxyistyping.tumblr.com/post/190138441483)

The T-85 X-wing felt strange in the stick. There. He admitted it. It wasn’t that Poe was struggling to fly it. It was just that it felt too… _new_. Too luxurious. The T-70 X-wing he’d made his own had felt smooth and comfortable, broken in through decades of flying from the pilots that owned it before him. The orange paint was scuffed, sure, and it could use some black coating, but it responded to his piloting almost as if it were reading his mind.

 _This_ X-wing, a T-85 that had seen fewer combat scenarios than he had fingers, was still a stallion to be broken in. It didn’t feel quite ready to respond to him, hesitant to engage in complex manoeuvres to the point Poe felt like he was shoving the stick around to get any kind of traction.

Not to mention, it’d just lost him a quick race to Kazuda Xiono – a little friendly competition while they were out on patrol. Honestly, Kaz’s win had only increased Poe’s admiration for the kid. Or, well, _“kid”_ – more like “guy”, or “pilot”, or something. Hardly seemed right calling the twenty-something a kid these days, not since he’d had to evacuate Castilion. If he refrained from referring to Rey as a kid, a part of him felt he should extend Kaz the same courtesy.

Somehow – _somehow –_ that flying death rust bucket Kaz called a racer was still kicking.

Kicking the new X-wing’s ass. And most of the Final Order’s ass, too, actually – the damn thing had come out of the battle of Exegol near-unscathed.

It’d been several minutes since Kaz had whooped in victory, but now they flew side-by-side in a relative silence – unusual for the pilot, but not unexpected.

“You okay, Kaz?”

“ _Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,_ ” Kaz stammered, the _Fireball_ descending to position below the X-wing. “ _Why do you ask?_ ”

Poe grinned, looking over to the other cockpit. “I’d expected you to be gloating about your victory by now.”

“ _Oh. Well…”_ he gave an exasperated sigh. “ _Yeah, I guess. I just…_ ”

“You just…?”

“ _I’m… I dunno. The First Order’s gone, for the most part. There’s no one out here we really need to worry about. This is really just a formality,_ ” Kaz sighed. “ _Once this is over… I’m not sure what I’ll do. I mean, I’ll race of course – ultimately that’s my plan – but… I’m just… I feel a little lost._ ”

Poe tilted his chin up, looking away from the _Fireball_ back out into open space. “I hear you. In a way, I feel the same.”

“ _Really?”_

“Sure. You think Finn and I have a plan for all this? First Order’s gone, and we’ve had some serious losses in the process. We lost Hosnian Prime…”

A loss from just two years prior felt as if it were _decades_ ago. So much had happened since then, so much had changed in a short period. The First Order had decimated the New Republic.

The First Order had decimated Kaz’s home.

“We’re starting from scratch, Kaz,” Poe continued. “It’s gonna take some work.”

“ _I guess it’s just gonna be strange, not having to constantly watch over our shoulders._ ”

“And that’s why we do these patrols. To make sure we don’t have to.”

They were interrupted when, over the com, CB-23 whistled frantically. Poe frowned, trying to make out what the droid was saying. The high whizzing tone of the droid was too quick for Poe to make out over the com.

“ _Whoa, slow down! A duplicate_ what _?”_ Kaz demanded.

The droid continued in its tone. Poe’s frown increased, checking his scanners for First Order signals. “Beebee-Ate, are you picking up anything strange?”

The BB unit responded in the negative, but Kaz was still trying to decipher what had gotten CB-23 riled up.

“What’s Seebee saying, kid?”

Damn it he called him ‘kid’ again-

“ _She’s detecting an old astromech signal… something to do with Beebee-Ate? She’s talking too fast. I can’t understand what she’s saying._ _No, wait!”_ Kazuda paused, listening again. “ _A second Beebee-Ate?”_

Something wasn’t right. The X-wing shuddered ever so slightly – spatial turbulence, probably? – while Poe glanced around open space hoping to find a wrecked BB unit to explain the frantic cries of CB-23. A couple dozen asteroids populated the area, but there were no ships wreckages that he could see, and none the X-wing detected. Was it even possible for two droids to share the same signature? That had to be a thing, right? Somebody’s probably done that before.

“I’m not detecting anything.”

“ _Well_ she’s _pretty sure-_ hey! _”_

The _Fireball_ lurched to the right, peeling away from the X-wing.

“Kaz!”

“S _eebee’s taken my flight controls!”_

Oh, great. Now they have a rogue droid.

Poe slapped the X-wing into order, tailing after the _Fireball_. “Seebee, _stand down_ ,” Poe ordered, but the droid continued to desperately whir and whistle about an older duplicate of BB-8.

And that’s when the X-wing’s alarms sounded.

The T-85 readout instantly swapped from a passive control layout to engaged mode. BB-8 reacted quickly, though the information he was trying to relay to Poe didn’t make much sense to the pilot.

“What do you mean, _temporal anomaly_ \- oof!”

The X-wing shuddered up and down, rocking his brain in his skull. His thruster controls went offline. “Oh no, now is _not_ a good time to assert dominance,” Poe growled at the starfighter.

 _The_ _Fireball_ had slowed ahead of him. In the inky black of space, the two pilots’ eyes adjusted to what Poe might have called a lightning storm, coming right at them. Grey clouds began to spread outwards towards them, beckoning the two ships while electric pulses ravaged its misty edges.

“ _General, I’ve got a bad feeling-”_

“I know, I know! Break off your course!”

The _Fireball_ (and more specifically, CB-23) complied, the ships brake flaps engaging. It disappeared from view underneath the X-wing.

The T-85, however, was less than eager to respond. The cloud was dragging the X-wing in, electric tendrils snagging the ship in their grasp.

“Beebee-Ate, I need those thrusters back!”

His trusted friend was _trying_. Lightning cracked out from the cloud in space, smacking against the X-wing. The X-wing’s red display only became brighter while BB-8 called out more damage reports. Life support systems had taken a critical hit. Thrusters were still offline.

“ _Poe!”_

“Stay clear, Kaz! I’ve got this!”

He most certainly does _not_ 'got this’. But he wasn’t about to tell Kaz that. Though, in hindsight, maybe he should have told Kaz he didn’t have it.

The X-wing was grazing across the edge of the cloud, pulled in against its will. As much as Poe slammed the stick, the X-wing failed to respond. The starfighter began to hurtle directly into the cloud, and the comline Kazuda began to fizzle while the younger pilot cried out after him.

_Oh kriff._

Finn was gonna kill him.


	2. 1 BBY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian Andor and K-2SO make an odd discovery.

“ _Return to base, Fulcrum. We’ll meet you there.”_

Cassian Andor flicked the com switch up harder than he ought to have, ending any further communication with the twi’lek captain. He sucked a deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes for a short moment. The droid in the pilot seat glanced over his shoulder.

“I take it we are _not_ going to the Ryloth system, then?” K-2SO asked.

Cassian’s dark eyes glowered at K-2, his jaw tightening as he dropped into the co-pilot’s seat. “Set a course for Base One.”

“…if you say so.”

 _It’s for the best_ , Cassian told himself. A human on Ryloth would only prompt suspicion during these tense times. It would hamper any information he or others on the planet could gather. As it was, Cassian’s plan had been to use K-2SO to observe the area. It was risky; no doubt the droid would draw the ire of the locals, still covered in Imperial paintwork. But it was the best plan he could come up with on short notice.

But now they were being diverted. Again.

When did these things become so complicated? Cassian liked to tell himself he was used to the whiplash of assignments, the uncertainty of being a spy. That was how the Alliance worked. The less everyone knew, the easier it was to cut off the people the Empire interrogated. Maybe, later in his life if the Empire ever fell, he would know the comfort of remaining in one place for more than a day.

“Oh well,” K-2SO sighed, “No breaking of bones this week, then.”

Cassian turned his gaze to the droid once more, a slight sense of concern edging across his eyes. “Do you think about these things before you say them?”

“Yes.”

“And that still sounds perfectly okay to you?”

“Shouldn’t it?” K-2 tilted his head unit. “We engage in a _lot_ of bone-breaking.”

Cassian’s voice took a higher tone as he thought back to their last mission. “I don’t believe we do, no.”

“Hm. My mistake.”

 _Do_ they engage in a lot of bone breaking? Cassian preferred combat with a blaster then he did anything else – usually it was K-2 that… oh. _Breaking of bones_ made sense, now that he thought about it.

Well. Maybe it was a good thing Cassian didn’t let him have a blaster.

“They don’t want to risk us,” Cassian grumbled. “The situation on Ryloth is so public, Syndulla doesn’t see it worth sending a second pair of-”

The ship shuddered, the pilot controls lurched out of K-2’s grip as a bolt of lightning(?!) retracted from the _Rogue Star._

“We are being pulled into some kind of electrical storm,” reported the droid as he wrestled the controls back.

Cassian looked through the front window into space. A grey mist was stretching out directly ahead, distorting the starlight. A flash cracked through it. “Kay, turn us around.”

“Flight controls are non-responsive.”

Cassian’s mind went into over-drive. _Non-responsive._ Not an issue with the thrusters or handling, but with the electrics. The lightning must have short out their electrics.

He could send K-2 to fix it-

No. K-2 had a superior response time. Cassian had never flown in a ‘lightning storm in space’ before – he could hardly predict the conditions and wouldn’t know how to navigate the environment. K-2’s processing power allowed him to make far quicker piloting decisions. Cassian had to handle the engineering problem.

Cassian launched from his chair, feet taking him toward the engine compartment. “Can you tell me the cause?”

K-2 found time to sarcastically tilt his head at Cassian as he passed. “…could it be caused by an electrical fault?” Before Cassian could snap at him, the lights in the cabin failed, plunging them into darkness while the _Rogue Star_ hurtled toward the cloud. Lightning flashes reflected from K-2’s optics as his attention returned to the controls. “We are being pulled in.”

“I can _see_ that, Kay!”

The Rebellion spy pulled a covering panel from the electrical controls. The circuit panel sparked at him, burning his hand. “Life support systems failing!” called K-2SO.

The many cables connecting the ship’s computer to its various systems appeared scorched, some of the fuses popped. He shook the limb, airing off the burn, and hurriedly removed his jacket to hold over the exposed skin of his digits and tried to replace the cabling – the panel continued to spark at him.

“We’ve entered the storm!”

The _Rogue Star_ lurched to the left, to the right, and shuddered hard enough to knock Cassian off his feet. “Kay, try to keep us steady!”

“Oh, _yes_. Keep us steady with no flight controls! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“ _Not now, Kay!”_

The electrical panel shot sparks out, igniting the lid of a cargo container – he’ll deal with that later. Cassian made it back onto his feet while the ship continued to rock violently. He tried (semi-successfully) to brace himself against the bulkhead, ignoring the electrical sparks. He snagged hold of a loose cable, locating its rightful socket, and plugged it in.

“Flight controls have returned!” called K-2SO.

“Get us out of here!”

There was a pause as Cassian made his way back to the cockpit. “I don’t think I can.”

Cassian was forced to hang onto the metal frame of the door to keep himself upright against the unstable ship. “Just _swing us around!_ ”

“I can navigate us forward _through_ the storm with controls restored. We risk unnecessary exposure to further strikes if we attempt a reversal. Is that smoke I’m detecting?”

The spy glanced behind him – flames had risen from the cargo container. Ice shot through his chest for the moment it took for him to smack his jacket against the flames, suffocating the mini blaze. “How long until we pass through the storm?”

“Not long-”

The right wing of the _Rogue Star_ collided with an object of some kind, sending the vessel and its two occupants into a right-hand spin. It blew Cassian into the opposite bulkhead, the metal garbling deafening him. K-2SO was rattling off damage reports, locked firmly into his seat. Next to Cassian, small pieces of debris began to float. His feet lost contact with the deck plating, hovering above the floor.

No gravity. The ship had no gravity.

“ _KAY!”_

“We’ve cleared the storm! I’m shutting the engines down. Hang on!”

The whirring of their stressed thrusters cut out. Cassian was dropped unceremoniously back onto the floor, head still ringing.

He crawled to the cockpit, his hands catching onto anything of purchase to get him upright and back into the co-pilot’s chair. A little dazed, he peered through the window past K-2. While not on fire (thankfully), their right wing was a mess, debris peeling off as they drifted through space with no engines. The grey mist of the ‘lightning storm’ had dispersed.

Cassian sucked in a deep breath, leaning against the head-rest of his chair.

“Well that was exciting,” K-2SO said dryly. Without moving his head, Cassian’s eyes glowered at the droid, but the KX droid had already turned his attention away. “What’s that out there?”

The human sighed, shoulders falling at the prospect of something _else_ trying to kill them. He peered through the window. A familiar shaped craft was being shadowed by a near-by planet. “Is that an X-wing?”

“It appears so. But I do not recognise the model.”

“Keep this distance, Kay.”

“There may not be need for alarm. From what my scanners can tell, the craft appears disabled.”

Cassian ground his back teeth. Could it be coincidental they found an X-wing on the other side of a death trap? “Tractor them.”

“Engaging winch…”

Cassian rolled his eyes, hauling himself up from his chair. “Can we dock?”

“Possibly.”

“ _Yes or no,_ Kay.”

“…yes?”

He stepped out of the cockpit. With careful steps, he avoided the mess of the cargo hold to their docking claw.

The claw hooked over the starfighter’s cockpit, pressurizing successfully. The ladder extended across, allowing Cassian to make his way to the canopy of the strange X-wing starfighter. Looking at the starfighter gave him a strange feeling. He couldn’t pin-point exactly what was _wrong_ with it. For the most part, the X-wing looked in-tact. Its hull was smooth, its canopy clips familiar to his fingers.

The unconscious pilot inside wore a familiar insignia on his orange jumpsuit and helmet – the Alliance starbird – but the red flag for Cassian was that he couldn’t put a name to the man’s face.

Cassian popped the canopy of the X-wing, slipping his hands under the pilot’s arms. He called out to the cargo bay. “Kaytoo!”

The droid’s head and torso popped into view. “Yes?”

“Call the nearest base. We need an I-D for this pilot.”


	3. 10 ABY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greef gives the Mandalorian an "easy job".

He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the once-lawless (…and once empty…) town had cropped up new residents. The people puttered about the main strip quietly, going about their business. They were all start-ups, really. Running and seeking a new life away from wherever it was they’d come. A handful of them had kicked the bar in the guts, restarting the business with a renewed vigour.

He chose not to think about how he’d almost perished in this very building barely one year ago.

“Mando!”

Greef Karga’s voice carried through the busy cantina, his arms wide. For a brief moment, the crowd silenced. His armour drew cautious stares from patrons waiting for drinks. The bar tenders had paused, casting sharp glances at each other. The guild agent ignored all of them as he gestured for the Mandalorian to take a seat.

“It’s good to see you, my friend!” Greef clapped a hand onto his shoulder, before dropping into the adjacent spot. “How’s our small green friend?”

The Mandalorian shot him a dark look, casting a glance around for anyone potentially listening. For Greef to speak so casually in such a loud place – it was either a tactic, or trust in those maintaining order around him. Mando wasn’t sure which thought he preferred.

“Doing fine,” he finally muttered.

“I’m glad to hear it! I'm surprised to see you return so soon.”

“We’re… running low on supplies,” he admitted. The _Razor’s Crest_ was running a little low on fuel, and the longer they searched for the child’s homeland, the further out they had to travel. Mando could live without creature comforts – he had been doing so for most of his life. The child, however, could at least use a new blanket. “Could use some coin.”

“I’m sure you could!” Greef chuckled. “It’s just your luck, then. I’ve some easy money ready and waiting.”

Some relief cast across Mando’s shoulders. The bounty hunter’s elbows pressed against the surface of the table. He took in the genuine joy of Greef. It was… strange, to be wanted. Especially after so long without hearing from him or Cara. “What’s the job?”

Greef pulled a tracking fob out from his jacket, placing it onto the table. “Senator of the New Republic has a bee in their bonnet over some rebel troops. A few people that ran with Han Solo putting their fingers where they didn’t belong.”

The Mandalorian gave a resigned sigh. His helmet tilted downwards, a disdain clenching his fingers. “I’m not interested.”

“Mando, it’s an _easy gig_. The senator just wants them to _cough up_ – how harmless can a New Republican even _be_ against some ex-rebels?”

Not very, given they spent most of their time bumbling around like idiots, but the bounty hunter chose not to voice this opinion. “They should take it up with the Rebellion.”

“They _are_ the Rebellion.”

 _…not really_.

“It’s the code of the guild to ask no questions,” Greef continued through the Mandalorian’s silence. “But I’m led to believe the bounty will be held to a court of law. But they need to bring him in, first.”

“Him? You said ‘rebel troops’. Plural.”

“I did. But the fobs are individual.” Greef motioned for him to take the tracking fob once more.

The bounty hunter regarded him once more. His fingers toyed with the tracking fob before finally taking it.

 _Kes Dameron_. Sargent in the Alliance during the Galactic War. Part of a strike team led by Han Solo. Some of his compatriots had already been brought in – Dameron was one of the last. It was odd that, until now, no other bounty hunter had been successful in bringing him in. The Rebellion might have been desperate back in the day, but they weren’t homicidal. They weren’t impossible to bring in.

This is not something the bounty hunter had wanted to get involved with.

His attention flickered back up to Greef. “Yavin Four?”

“That’s right,” the guild agent nodded. “An easy job, for easy money.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect no less.”


	4. The captor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe wakes up on an unfamiliar spaceship with a less-then-forthcoming captor.

_“Don’t wait for me! Jump in and fire her up!”_

_Screeee!_

_The little white and orange ball whizzed ahead, beating Poe to Black One by a few seconds. Pilots and engineers scrambled across the hanger, readying squadron X-wings for the fight of their lives-_

_…_

_A flash of orange heat launched Poe back through the hanger doors, his body colliding with the deck-_

The pilot sucked in a sharp breath at the hint of smoke in the air. His brown eyes snapped open, his body shuddering at the dream – no… a memory. Right? That was a memory. The catalyst event to the downfall and rise-

_This isn’t an X-wing._

The grey panels of this room were too far apart to belong to any starfighter. Was he laying down? Thick black eyebrows frowned at the room, taking in its dull details. It was pretty much just panels, floor, open door; nothing special, and nothing he recognised. A cargo container sat lonely in the room's corner, lock indicator lit.

Poe was on a ship – that much he could tell. He could hear the vibration of the engines reverberating through the deck plating. Every now and then, it stuttered, as if they had damaged a thruster. The smell of smoke permeated the air – something had burned recently, but it (hopefully) wasn’t burning now.

He tried to sit up – but his right wrist was caught on something. Poe glanced above his head, shaking his hand. Old cuffs smacked against a bed rail, one snapped around his wrist and the other around a rail of the bedhead. His eyes glanced down to still see his jumpsuit – minus his flares, life support unit… and his harness. Hm. That can’t mean this was a rendezvous gone wrong, right?

_Kaz._

_Kriff._

Poe smacked the cuff around the bed more violently, trying to get himself upright. Kaz was nowhere to be seen. He was on an unfamiliar craft, with no BB-8, and Kazuda wasn’t here either. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was that crazy electrical storm taking out his life support systems. He’d lost consciousness.

Footsteps stopped at his doorway.

The pilot froze, turning his eyes to the human standing with his arms crossed. The man’s wispy brown hair was tousled, some of it stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He wore no First Order get-up, donned in a typical Resistance-brown cargo pants and tanned long-sleeve shirt. His brown eyes had locked Poe firmly within their gaze. A black holster was hooked around his hips, holding a rather chunky-looking blaster.

“State you name and rank,” the man demanded.

Poe gaped for a moment, glancing back up to the cuffs entrapping him. “I’ve got three questions for you,” he breathed, yanking once more on the cuffs. “Who are you, where am I, and how the hell did I get here?”

“ _Name and rank_ ,” the man repeated.

“What’s _yours_?”

His captor’s frown deepened, stubbled jaw clenching. “We rescued you from a disabled X-wing. We’d at _least_ deserve to know who you are.”

“You could be First Order for all I know.”

“Could be _what_?”

Poe rose an eyebrow, surprised at the genuine confusion on the man’s face. “Y’know… white bucket-heads? Intent on galactic subjugation? Was dealt a massive blow from the Resistance not too long ago and now they’re running and hiding? It’s impossible for you to have _not_ heard of them.”

A moment passed as the man tried to process everything Poe had just blurted. “ _What_?”

“ _Where is my wing-man_?” Poe demanded loudly. “What have you done with him?”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“The racer I was flying with! What have you done with its pilot?”

“There were no other starcraft in the area,” the man stated. “We’d have already located them if there were.”

Poe swore. They’d left Kaz at the mercy of the freak storm in the middle of space, with no back-up or help on the way. They’d been too far out of range for Resistance scanners to pick them up – they’d only meant to be surveying possible refuges for First Order cronies. _An easy fly-by_ , Poe had pitched to Finn, _nothing more_. That was the only reason a _General_ had been allowed to go out in a relatively new starfighter. Kazuda’s repairs on the _Fireball_ had just been completed and he was eager to come. It was the perfect opportunity to stretch his wings again.

But his captor kept trying to pull answers to other questions out of him. “You were alone in an unfamiliar class of X-wing. Are you a test pilot?”

“I wish,” Poe grumbled to himself. He readdressed the man. “We gotta go back and find the racer. That storm would have torn it apart!”

“That storm almost tore _us_ apart,” the man stomped forward, closer to Poe. “This ship is barely flying as it is. We can’t launch a search for a ship you’ve not convinced me is there.”

“I swear to you, it’s _there_. Its pilot is only young and we’re out of range of Resistance scanners – you can’t-”

The ship’s deck-plating groaned, a loud _pop_ shuddering through the bulkheads and rocking its occupants. An engine had blown.

The internal com chimed. “ _I’m not sorry to interrupt your loud game of chase-the-lothcat’s-tail. Our repair efforts don’t appear to have helped anything. I intend to land us on the nearest habitable planet.”_

_A droid?_

It didn’t use a voice-box he recognised.

The man sighed, sparing Poe one last dangerous glance as he swung around and marched out of the quarters. “I’m on my way.”

“Wait a minute,” Poe called after him. “You got my out of my X-wing in space – don’t tell me you plan to land with it still _docked_!”

But it didn’t stop his captor, the brooding dark-haired mystery man continuing his march out of view. Poe grumbled at himself, hauling his body further up the bed to get a closer look at the cuffs. If he could just find a way to pop it open, he could make a run for BB-8 once the ships had landed and contact Kaz.


	5. Change of course

The _Razor Crest_ flew smoothly through hyperspace, its course laid in for Yavin 4. The Mandalorian sucked in a deep breath, turning to look at his passenger.

Wide eyes stared back at him, a slow blink blurring the small bundles eyes. A tiny hand the length of Mando’s fifth digit grasped the mythosaur pendant. Long pointed ears had fallen flat.

“You’re tired,” the bounty hunter commented. As usual, the Child didn’t respond. Mando withheld a sigh and gently prodded the little one down in his cradle. “Rest.”

 _We’ll arrive on Yavin soon_ , he thought to himself. And then came the decision of how to handle Kes Dameron.

Mando was not eager to step into the affairs of the New Republic. His confidence waned; he had little faith in their system. Someone else was bound to come along, to burn down new villages with old sentiments. Dameron was but a screw found within a small cog, propping a larger turntable. What crime could the New Republic pin on a man who fought _for_ them? A man that helped to bring down the Empire? By rights, they should buy him a lifetime of drinks, not charge him with petty theft.

Having few answers was the nature of this job, but he inevitably had questions. He’d just come to terms with never learning the truth. For now, Dameron meant money – and he sorely needed the coin.

With the little one’s light breaths whistling away, the Mandalorian turned back to his tracking fob. Dameron had a square face, with thick eyebrows and a strong goatee upon his chin. Something had hardened his eyes, but Mando could still see a lightness within them through the holo.

The tracking fob fizzled.

Mando’s helmet tilted ever so slightly as the fob… refreshed. He’d never seen the technology jitter. Not once. The bounty hunter’s shoulders squared as he considered the possible explanations for its failure.

Greef had been sure Dameron was on Yavin 4. He'd gone so far to call it an "easy job".

So why was the tracking fob now putting him on an uninhabited world in the Geezor system?

The bounty hunter glanced back to the little one, still sound asleep. Things had the habit of floating around him while the child slept sometimes, but this seemed beyond such capabilities.

Mando hummed. He set a new course, to Geezor – if only to see what the fob could lead him to. Once he settled his curiosity, he’d return on their course to Yavin 4. This seemed… too odd to ignore.


	6. Rapid Rogue Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and K-2SO crash-land the Rogue Star, but their pilot "guest" escapes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That other chapter was a little too short for my liking, so here's a longer one to make up for it.

“This is going to be a very bad landing!”

The ship was shaking so much, Cassian had to grit his teeth to stop him from chattering. His knuckles were white on the controls of the rapidly descending ship. The ground of this uninhabited world the _Rogue Star_ was plummeting into was lush with browning wheat fields, its sky almost sickening in its beauty. It wouldn’t be long before they got to feel Geezor’s sun on their skin – assuming this crash landing wasn’t fatal.

K-2SO’s endless pessimism wasn’t helping matters.

The ship lurched backward, throwing Cassian and K-2 forward into the dash as the _Rogue Star_ suddenly decelerated. It knocked the breath out of Cassian, leaving him a sharp pain in his chest as the console imprinted into his skin – he almost lost his grip on the controls, only adrenaline keeping him alert.

“The X-wing deployed its flaps!” exclaimed K-2SO, but Cassian didn’t have the time to comment on the manoeuvre.

The drop in speed had corrected their near-fatal angle of entry, some of the rapid shudder in the flight controls loosening while they were still airborne, but they’d no time to celebrate. The ground met the _Rogue Star_ , slamming into the hull and deafening both human and droid. Their harnesses protected them from being thrown clear of the cockpit – it dug into Cassian’s skin, sure to leave rashes and bruises for weeks. His head thumped against the head-rest, stuck there while the _Rogue Star_ slid across the ground.

The forward motion continued for too long. The ice in his stomach had reached Cassian’s chest when he realised they hadn’t perished from the crash itself – but what if they came across a cliff, or a forest, or something worse? There was always _something worse_.

But by some miracle, _worse_ never came.

The weight of the X-wing they towed behind them had been enough to slow their momentum. They finally came to a solid stop, wheat and debris having scattered across the front of the _Rogue Star_.

It was over. They were alive.

K-2SO unclipped his harness. The droid’s long black arm reached over to undo Cassian’s as well. His head moved as he began to speak, but Cassian held up a hand. “ _Don’t_ say it.”

K-2’s head drooped. “… _that was eventful_ …”

Cassian turned his head slowly, giving the droid a dark look. At least he didn’t say it’d been ‘exciting’. With a heavy breath, Cassian rubbed at his eyes. “Damage report?”

“I imagine everything is broken,” K-2 stated, and the co-pilot’s console chirped rapidly. “Nevermind. Someone has opened the cargo bay door.”

Cassian launched to his feet, checking K-2’s console. They had opened the doors from the inside.

Their mysterious pilot had escaped his cuff.

Cassian’s feet thumped against the deck plating. The pilot had a head-start, but once Cassian’s eyes readjusted for the sunlight outside, he could see exactly where the man in the orange jumpsuit was headed: to the X-wing.

Cassian cursed. They should have secured it before beginning their descent. If the X-wing was still flight-worthy, the pilot could disappear in an instant. It didn’t matter if it could handle outer space – if it got to the other side of this planet, Cassian had no hope of locating it again with the _Rogue Star_ in its damaged state.

The tan-skinned pilot slid to a halt when he reached the X-wing’s cockpit, slipping and catching himself on the X-wing’s hull. But he failed to pop it open. He dropped to his knees, lush brown hair wind-swept from the dash from the _Rogue Star,_ his attention on something below the X-wing. The pilot’s voice was just inaudible against the wind rushing past Cassian’s ears.

The spy’s feet scraped to a stop, kicking up dirt. His chest heaved as he whipped out his blaster and trained it to the pilot.

The pilot was deep in a frantic conversation with… some kind of orange and white ball droid, no taller than his knee.

“Hands where I can see them,” Cassian wheezed. His lungs ached – between the _Rogue Star’s_ crash and the sprint to catch up to their ‘guest’, he was hardly in a position to give orders.

The small ball-like droid responded poorly to the demand. A small metal arm flipped out – it shoved an electric poker towards him as it beeped and zizzed at him. Cassian stumbled backward to avoid the strikes, but he only ended up on his backside in the dirt.

“Beebee-Ate, enough. Enough!” the pilot called, throwing himself between Cassian and the droid, sitting at the droid's height. “He said he rescued us – the least we can do is _not shock him_.”

The droid whizzed too fast for Cassian to make sense of it, but the pilot appeared to be keeping up. “What is it saying?” the spy demanded.

“That we’re out of range of Kaz- I mean… my _wing-man_ ,” he explained, before slumping down to the ground, laying with his limbs eagle spread as he sucked in Geezor II’s oxygen. He brought his hands up to scrub at his face, still listening to the droid’s incessant beeping.

“I told you already,” Cassian growled. “There were _no other crafts_. Just _you_ and this _X-wing_.”

“That can’t be right! We hadn’t slipped that far apart when we hit the storm!”

“ _When_ did you hit the storm? How long was your starfighter drifting before we found you?”

The ball droid – BB-8 – started its incoherent whistling again. “He says we’d only been out for a few minutes,” the pilot translated. “You’re _sure_ you didn’t come across another craft?”

“It would be here, crashed with us on this planet if we _had_.” Cassian holstered his blaster. This pilot was just as exhausted as he was. It was possible the air on Geezor II was a little thin – but after the tumultuous landing they just had, neither of them were running anywhere again soon. “You have answered none of my questions.”

“What were they again?”

“Who are you? What is this X-wing? What kind of droid is this? You say you weren’t alone, but what are two starfighters doing patrolling this section of space with the Empire so close by?”

“The _Empire-_? Okay, no. I’m not telling you squat until _you_ tell me who _you_ are,” the man jabbed a finger in his direction. “Because either you’re playing a really long game, or you’re insane.”

Cassian’s brow deepened. They were at a stand-still _again_. It would yield him no answers to round in circles with the man.

The pilot wore a Rebellion insignia; he flew an X-wing. Though his X-wing and droid were unfamiliar models, surely there was enough to at least provide him with _something_? This hardly appeared to be an act of an Imperial sympathiser.

“…I’m Fulcrum.”

The man scrambled upright at this, face embodying surprise – maybe also a little awe – at the mention of his codename. “You’re _Fulcrum_? Which one!?”

Ah. It was becoming more likely the man _was_ from the Alliance. Cassian shook his head. “You first. _Who are you_?”

“I’m Poe! Poe Dameron. I’m with the Resistance.”

“The _what_? You mean the _Rebellion_?”

Poe was silenced. The apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He slumped back a little, glancing over to the smoking remains of the _Rogue Star_. K-2SO now descended the ramp, his large and imposing Imperial figure engaging in a leisurely stroll toward the two humans.

“Y’know,” Poe finally said. “It’s kind of a long story.”


	7. Insanity of Temporal Mechanics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe explains to Cassian his new-found conundrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a doctor.

He’d heard stories, years ago, about pilots getting lost flying through anomalies in space. One minute they were there, the next they’d cease to exist. On the rare occasion a conspiracy theorist ran out of material, someone drudged up an old ship that happened to look similar or held an identifying object in its cockpit and claimed the craft to belong to the lost pilot. _A pilot lost in the past_ , they’d exclaim as crowds of people walked past, trying to go about their day. _It happens more than you know!_

Poe had always thought those people needed help. They’d been pushed to their limits and were trying to find an outlet—wannabe pilots were the perfect targets for such tales.

But Poe was now witness to a current and functioning KX security droid in pristine condition, give or take a slight alteration in its paint job. And its travelling companion claimed to be a Fulcrum agent.

He’d heard stories about these guys his entire life but had never actually met them. The Empire discontinued the KX series before the war had even ended (likely something to do with their suspiciously easy-to-find _off_ switch), and _Fulcrum_ hadn’t officially been used by any Resistance agent. It was more commonly found in the Rebellion. It was _weird_ that he found representatives of both parties in a _pair_.

BB-8 understood their situation even less than Poe did. The small droid couldn’t track Kazuda—it downright _cried_ upon reporting the lack of any sign the _Fireball_ was even in the area. The lightning storm had fried the X-wing’s scanners, the data logs conveniently corrupted. BB-8 could only make assumptions about where Fulcrum and the KX droid had crash-landed them. For all they knew, they were dozens of planetary systems away from where they’d last seen Kaz. But BB-8 was certain they hadn’t gone back toward where they’d come—the droid could not raise any Resistance com.

Dusk infected the planet’s skyline as shadows cast on the two ships. The surface temperature eased a little. The shock of the crash-landing was subsiding. Before introductions could be properly made, the KX droid downright _dragged_ Fulcrum back to their ship. Not that Fulcrum could protest—he might have been able to chase Poe back to the X-wing, but by the time they’d ‘finished’ their conversation, the man was all out of energy. Wispy brown hair stuck to his forehead sweat, and his legs were little more than jello by the time the droid ushered him back for treatment.

“Alright Beebee-Ate, run the diagnostic again,” he called out, pulling the adjustor tool away from the brake flap. The droid whizzed, and after a few seconds of relative silence, it reported back… with some admittedly sour news.

This wasn’t as easy a fix Poe hoped it would be.

“Y’know, for a brand new X-wing, this thing really can’t pull any emergency planetary manoeuvres.”

BB-8 whistled about the weight of their ‘captor’s’ vessel placing undue pressure on the starfighter’s deceleration systems—and that Poe had deliberately chosen to remotely deploy flaps, blind to the combined condition of both ships. Realistically, the math had been against the starfighter.

“ _Black One_ would have taken that weight,” Poe admonished, shining a torch to cut through the darkness hiding the brake flap assembly. “I’m sorry I have realistic expectations of X-wings. It’s like they built this thing in the last hour before the work-shift knocked off for the weekend…”

 _What weekend?_ the droid asked, a hint of sarcasm lacing its binary language.

“Fair point.”

“We do not recognise this starfighter’s configuration.”

The shock of hearing a new voice was enough to send Poe head-first into the flap assembly—and he was lucky he narrowly missed his forehead hitting the flap’s edge. He dropped the torch, rubbing the top of his head as he crawled out from under the right-hand engine. Standing a few feet taller than he was the black KX droid, beady white eyes staring at him.

“You snuck up on me there,” Poe huffed, scooping up the torch as he got to his feet.

The black hulk of a droid continued to gaze at him. “That _was_ my intention.”

“Oh.” Poe blinked. “Well… good job!”

“I am Kay Tuesso.”

“I’m Poe,” the pilot nodded up to the droid compartment of the X-wing. “Up there is Beebee-Ate.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Fulcrum said you rescued us from our drift. Thank you.”

“If we _hadn’t_ rescued, it is highly probable _Rogue Star_ would be little more than scattered debris,” K-2SO said. “It’s a good thing Cassian’s cuffs are easily broken.”

 _His name is Cassian._ Poe gave a small huff, his hands resting on his hips. Evidently, K-2SO was a little more lenient about the ‘secret identity’ thing than Fulcrum was. Poe wasn’t sure if that meant K-2SO trusted him, or if he was just sticking it to his partner. “I’m sorry about that. I needed to check on my droid.”

“I don’t care,” K-2 stated. “I’ve come to take your medical kit.”

Dark eyebrows pulled together in concern. Poe passed K-2 to lean into the X-wing’s cockpit. He reached for the medkit tucked away next to the pilot’s seat. “Everything okay?”

“Ours was lost when our cargo hold caught fire.”

“No, I mean- is Fulcrum okay?”

“ _Cassian_ could do with some bacta,” K-2SO drawled, snatching the medkit from Poe’s hands and beginning his stalk away from the X-wing. “He also says there’s a spare bunk available.”

Poe shut the canopy down as BB-8 ejected from the X-wing’s droid compartment, and performed a limp-jog after K-2.

* * *

Fulcrum (or, as K-2SO had referred to him, _Cassian_ ) was slumped back in the co-pilot’s chair of his ship’s wreckage. The tanned long-sleeve shirt was pulled open, revealing a myriad of fancy blue and purpling bruises across his sternum—mostly from the chair’s harness. It wasn’t as bad as Poe had expected; the man was hardly at death’s door. He was just _exhausted_.

“You look how I feel,” Poe commented, approaching K-2SO cautiously while the other man smirked and glanced away. Poe’s arm reached up to hold the top of the doorway, peering into the damaged control area. The viewport had a long crack from top to bottom, the controls the pair had used to fly the ship had blackened. “My X-wing got away unscathed compared to this.”

“We haven’t really determined the damage,” the man muttered. “Kaytoo won’t let me.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you started complaining,” the ex-Imperial droid grumbled as he cracked open Poe’s medkit, pulling out small bundles of supplies. He had to raise one of his long arms up out of the way of BB-8 as the small droid rolled past and took up a spot in the corner.

Cassian rolled his eyes, turning them back to Poe. “I think my pain unsettles him.”

Poe’s chest rose, and he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Just looking at you is unsettling _me_.”

“It’s just bruising from the harness.”

“I doubt that very much,” said K-2SO. His round white eyes slid between Cassian and Poe. “I don’t think I can diagnose his injury. You humanoids are far too fragile. You should look into getting carbon fibre exo-skeletons.”

BB-8 gave a droid-version of a frown and chastised K-2. In his seat, Cassian sucked in a sharp breath, his attention solely on BB-8 as if he were trying to decipher what the little droid was saying.

“ _Enough_ ,” snapped K-2SO. “Speak _slowly_. Do your communication protocols lack common logic? Your phrasing is appalling. It’s a wonder you can get _any_ message across.”

The ball-like droid flipped out his lighter—though the intention probably wasn’t a ‘thumbs up’ as it often was for Finn. Poe sighed.

The ‘time travel’ theory was becoming less and less like a theory. If Poe was exactly _when_ he’d originally been, the droids wouldn’t have had _any_ difficulty understanding each other. It would have been a readily available communications data packet. But here K-2 was, only slowly translating what BB-8 was saying. At least he _could_ understand him. Cassian’s eyebrows appeared permanently pinched together whenever he so much as glanced at the orange and white ball.

“ _I_ can patch him up,” Poe offered.

“Oh yes,” K-2 drawled. “Let the strange man in the strange X-wing with the strange droid treat a potentially fatal injury-”

“ _Kay_ ,” Cassian interrupted. “I’ll be fine. Go see if we can get this ship flying again.”

K-2SO snapped up straight, staring at Cassian for a moment. “ _Fine_ ,” he stomped out of the control area. “But don’t call for me if he breaks your neck!”

Poe gaped after the droid. He’d met some characters over his years with the Resistance, but K-2SO was almost the antithesis of all of them.

“He means well,” Cassian sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “He tends to say whatever comes to him.” BB-8 chirped in agreement. Cassian frowned again. “I’m usually adept understanding binary, but… I can’t seem to make heads or tails of how your droid speaks.”

“Yup, seems to be going around.” Poe took hold of the supplies K-2SO had removed from the medkit. “We’ll figure that out later. Tell me: what hurts? Aside from the copious amounts of bruises your harness gave you.”

“My neck,” he admitted. “It’s… gotten harder to move in the last few hours.”

Last time Poe had spoken to him had been about two, maybe three hours ago—the pilot had been busy evaluating the X-wing and running all the diagnostics he could think of. Guilt grazed his chest. While he’d been busy trying to get off this planetoid, Cassian’s health had deteriorated. This _was_ (at least partially) Poe’s fault, no thanks to the risky brake-flap manoeuvre.

Poe raised his hands, gesturing to Cassian’s neck. “Can I feel?”

The man’s eyebrows rose and fell, his nose sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes narrowed for a moment—probably assessing Poe’s intentions—but he made no objection. Poe took that as permission. Ever so carefully, the pilot tilted Cassian’s head left and right, and a little forward. Cassian’s hand clenched on the chair’s armrest, his eyes and jaw tightening.

“Okay,” Poe breathed, removing his hands from the man’s neck. Cassian relaxed his head back. “Your neck is pretty stiff. Any other pain?”

“Just my neck.”

“Makes sense,” Poe pulled out an instant-icer and a painkiller. “Looks like your headrest is pretty well cushioned. Combine that with your harness, and you were pretty well protected from any head injuries. You feel dizzy?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

“I’ve been awake for twenty-seven hours. I believe I’ve the _right_ to feel tired.”

“ _Twenty-seven hours_? What the hell have you been doing that’s required you be awake for _twenty-seven hours_?”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed, again staring at Poe. “We’d just completed reconnaissance on Coruscant among the Mon Calamari riots. We were re-routed to Ryloth, but the plan changed. Then… we ran into that storm—and _you_.”

Poe’s hands stilled. _Mon Calamari riots_ —the Empire having forcefully moved Coruscant’s Mon Calamari population had resulted in the events. Everything Poe knew about it was second-hand—it was before his time, just one of the many crimes the Empire had committed before the First Order (and the Final Order) had shown up. He swallowed, cracking the instant-icer, the cool temperature rushing into his hands.

“What’s your prognosis?” Cassian asked, breaking the silence. Poe was thankful.

“Standard case of pilot’s whiplash, I think. I know it sucks, but I’m gonna ask that you stay awake for one more hour, just to make sure nothing nasty creeps up on us.” He placed the instant-icer to rest on the back of the man’s neck. He held up the pain killer. “Did you want this?”

“I’ve had worse. I’ll manage,” he breathed.

“You don’t _have_ to manage, Cassian.”

Dark, liquid brown eyes burned a hole through Poe’s skull, shifting the feel of the conversation from _nostalgic_ to _uh-oh_. “You know my name?”

Poe blinked. “Kay Tuesso mentioned it when he came for the medkit.”

Cassian hissed, looking through the viewport. Off to the right were two tiny lights—it took Poe a few seconds to realise they were actually K-2SO’s optical units, staring at them.

He awkwardly meandered out of view, hiding from Cassian’s sour look.

“Kaytoo is good at many things,” Cassian said. “Keeping secrets is not one of them.”

“I think he was just worried about you. He was in a bit of a hurry.”

“I don’t doubt it. But as you can see, I’m—mostly—fine.”

Poe closed the medkit and dropped into the co-pilot’s chair. The emergency lights overhead flickered, in danger of losing their rudimentary power. Part of him wondered if Cassian had actually been serious about getting this ship to fly again. But Poe glanced over to his new companion. “Does… this mean we can introduce ourselves properly?”

Cassian’s nose crinkled ever so slightly, and he drew his gaze away from the darkened landscape. “I am Captain Cassian Andor. I serve Rebel Alliance Intelligence.”

“Rebel Alliance Intelligence,” Poe repeated, leaning back in the chair. He rubbed at the scruff growing at his cheeks and considered his words carefully. “Captain… what if I told you that the Rebel Alliance Intelligence was dissolved roughly thirty years ago?”

Silence permeated the cockpit. Poe couldn’t meet Cassian’s eyes, but he could feel the man’s deep gaze.

“I would ask if you’d taken spice recently.”

“Yeah,” Poe huffed an awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I have a… small conundrum.”

Cassian’s lips tightened. “We don’t have any spice aboard.”

“And I’m glad, but that’s not my conundrum. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

“Poe… we _crashed_. None of us are meant to be here.”

“No, I mean- I think that lightning storm… sent me _back in time_.”

Cassian stared at him, silent. A hiccup of laughter breached his lips, and he failed to contain it. He just _laughed_ , amusement relaxing the crow’s feet at his eyes. Truly, the man was handsome when he wasn’t all-serious… but Poe needed him to be all-serious.

Finally, the laughter subsided, and Cassian realised Poe hadn’t joined him—or was even smiling at all. “…you can’t be serious?”

“Think about it. You’ve already asked me about my X-wing. Even Kay Tuesso doesn’t recognise it. And Beebee-Ate?” Poe gestured to the droid, still quietly sitting in the corner observing the two men. “You don’t understand his binary? That’s because he uses twenty-seventh generation droid-speak. It’s a _compressed_ binary.”

“Poor phrasing…” Cassian muttered, repeating what K-2SO had mentioned earlier to the BB unit.

“Exactly. You mentioned the Mon Calamari riots? That’s _history_ to me. And Ryloth? That’s under the purview of General Syndulla, right? I’d bet credits you were told to stay away because of Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

The captain’s eyes had lost the touch of amusement entirely now, his face almost blank as Poe dropped his bombshells.

His voice was quiet, uncertain of what Poe was trying to tell him. “…you _are_ serious?”

“Yeah,” Poe nodded. “…do you believe me?”

Silence, again, as Cassian considered. He spoke ever so slowly, “That… would explain why we never encountered your ‘wing-man’. If… he was never in this time, of course there would be no trace of his vessel.”

“Well, yeah. Neither of us have yet to be born.” Yikes. He just admitted he was old—to himself, not so much to Cassian. Given the events the captain had already mentioned, he and K-2 hadn’t yet hit the battle of Yavin. So he hadn’t been born just yet. And Kazuda wouldn’t even be a twinkle in his father’s eye.

What a weird, _weird_ sensation.

“It’s too crazy a story _not_ to believe,” Cassian finally said, squaring his shoulders. “But even if you _are_ temporally displaced, I’m not sure how you intend to return to your time.”

“I gotta get back through that lightning storm.”

“Possibly. But that could just send you back _further_. No. We need more information before you proceed.” Cassian rubbed his fingers together. “But if you truly are from… _the future_ …”

“I can’t tell you what happens,” Poe mumbled. “I’ve probably wrecked our timeline enough as it is.”

What if Cassian and K-2SO weren’t _meant_ to make it through the crash landing? A sick feeling bubbled in his stomach as Poe thought about the implications. Did he just ruin the course of the Galactic War? By inadvertently saving these two Rebellion members? Or was it just small enough of a change not to matter?

Was there even actually a _science_ to time travel? The crazy people in the streets said absolutely nothing about how to _not wreck the timeline_ , just that it _happened_. That had to count for something, right? Surely temporal mechanics would take it easy on him, especially on his first go?

“Alright,” Cassian stood, carefully stretching his limbs and taking the instant-icer off the back of his neck. He held a hand out to Poe—and the pilot took it, standing with him. “Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we plan our next move. Getting you back should be our first priority.”

“Thank you for trusting me. I know it sounds insane, but thank you.”

“That it sounds insane is probably the _only_ reason I believe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for you kind words! I made a doozy of a mistake and forgot to hit save on my chapter outlines -- but the good news is that I remember how this was meant to go! Just means that it might not be 18 chapters exactly.
> 
> Note to self: press save on anything and everything, whenever possible.


	8. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian catches up with Dameron — and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support. As much as I am writing this for myself, I'm glad you are all enjoying it just as much as I am.

The Geezor plains were unknown to him. It was admittedly a nice change of pace to go from the rocky volcanic surface he’d originally operated from to a slightly cooler environment, layered in a field of wheat or growing malt. As the Mandalorian crouched down in the thick and dying weeds, he stared down into the valley: the sun was rising, the shadows once cast upon a crashed starcraft and the X-wing trailing behind it were dispersing.

One of the ships' occupants was already up and about. The Mandalorian focussed his helmet’s scanners on them: they were a male human, joined by a small white and orange droid.

But the Mandalorian could be certain he’d seen this man before.

With a cautious curiosity, Mando took the tracking fob out of his pocket. It pinged right here, on Geezor. The man crawling underneath the X-wing _appeared_ to be Kes Dameron… but part of the Mando wasn’t so convinced. The circumstances of their arrival here seemed… _wrong_. How convenient the fob had rerouted him from Yavin IV to Geezor—a quicker trip for the _Razor’s Crest_. It seemed like an uncharacteristically easy job Greef had given him.

From this distance, his helmet’s visual scans weren’t nearly as reliable as he’d liked. And Mando had lost the cover of nightfall. Assuming the other occupants were busy making repairs inside the other starcraft, it was possible he could approach from the front—utilise the cliff edge to his advantage. Given the state of the lead vessel, they wouldn’t be departing anytime soon, and were unlikely to run.

Maybe he should count his lucky stars and cease to be so suspicious.

With the _Razor’s Crest_ secured and the Child still fast asleep, the Mandalorian made onward his journey to the cliff’s edge, before descending to the ground level of the two starcrafts.

* * *

He clung to the side of the crashed ship, obscuring himself from the view of the two human men. Dameron stood near to a wiry male who was pressing a medical pack of some kind to the back of his neck as they surveyed the crumpled with of their ship.

“Kay was right. No miracle could repair this,” the man breathed, shifting his weight on his feet.

Dameron agreed. “I hate to say it, but I could use some of the parts from the _Rogue Star_ to repair the brake flaps on the X-wing,” he sighed, running a hand through thick curls. “Have you managed to raise the Rebellion?”

“Not yet. But even if he does, do you really want to meet them?”

“…yeah, that could be a problem.”

Dameron moved closer to the wing, examining the torn wing closely, nearing the edge of the craft behind which the Mandalorian was hiding. He brought his hands around a cylinder-shaped component and yanked at it, ripping it from the hull. Mando’s helmet tilted down, his fingers reaching for his blaster, waiting for the opportunity to step out…

“Did you hit something?” Dameron asked the other man.

There was a pause before he got an answer, Dameron tilting his head as if he were confused by something Mando couldn't yet see.

The wispy-haired male spoke as he stepped out of view. “That’s why we went down. The repairs we made… they were negligible.” His voice drew further away, calling out to Dameron. “Kaytoo made the decision to land.”

“I remember. It might have been better to stay in space.”

“This was after life-support failed…”

He was too far away for Mando to make out the rest of his sentence through regular means. He remained silent, listening to the organic audio—none of this was overly important to him, anyway. Not when Dameron stayed put, still toying with the component he’d pulled from the wing of the vessel.

A droid rolled up to Dameron’s feet, swinging back and forth as it addressed him in binary.

“Beebee-Ate…” Dameron muttered quietly. “ _Stay_.”

Mando’s shoulders dropped.

So that’s how this was going to be.

The realisation they had discovered him came a little too late. His hand snapped his blaster from its holster, but he was greeted with the barrel of a stocky hand weapon held at his helmet—in the grasp of the companion who had left ear-shot, now standing behind him.

Mando acted swiftly. Gloved hands grasped his would-be attacker’s arm and yanked the man across his body. Mando slammed his fist into the man’s back, and he fell knee-first into the dirt. Dameron scooped up the weapon, took aim, and fired at the Mandalorian. His shots missed. The armoured man had knocked him upside the head before he could scramble back to his feet and he stumbled, collapsing to the ground.

The rolling droid squealed out, a taser extension popping from its casing and snapping toward Mando. He side-stepped the odd little droid, firing his grappling line at its optical unit and swinging it around. It jammed under the broken hull of the ship, crying out for its own.

“Beebee-Ate!”

Dameron was still dazed, struggling to balance himself on his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his chin—consequence of the nasty backhand Mando had inflicted.

A boot impacted with the back of the Mandalorian’s knee, knocking him down. He’d forgotten about the second man.

“What is going _on_ out here- oh.”

All three struggling bodies froze at the interruption. The nameless man held the Mandalorian at blaster-point, as Dameron face-planted back into the dirt. Standing beside the ramp into the crashed ship was an old Imperial droid, standing tall—black and menacing, just standing there staring at the three men as if the scene were unsurprising. Though it made no move to attack, Mando reacted on instinct. He fired his blaster, though missed the droid’s head. The blaster bolt into its shoulder area staggered it backwards, but Mando didn’t see it fall. Dameron's companion tackled him to the ground, wrestling against him until he was straddled atop the Mandalorian, blaster aimed at his neck.

“Stop!” Dameron shouted, finally getting back to his feet, pulling his companion off Mando. “ _Everybody take a breath_.”

The companion exhaled two sharp breaths before glancing past Mando’s shoulder. “ _Kay!_ ”

Suddenly he wasn’t interested in the Mandalorian, racing past him to attend to the droid that had fallen. Dameron attempted to follow, but Mando snagged the back of his collar, extending his grappling rope again to slink around the man’s ankles. He face-planted once more.

“ _Enough_!” he groaned from the ground, turning over and wiping the back of his hand over his chin. “Who the hell are you!?”

“He’s a Mandalorian,” the companion called, his blaster raised from his position near the Imperial droid.

Dameron’s eyes glazed over with understanding. “Holy _kriff_.”

Mando jabbed a finger towards the companion. “That is an Imperial droid.”

“ _Repurposed_ ,” he spat, shoulders stiff as he took a cautionary step towards Mando and Dameron. “Release my friend. _Now_.”

The Mandalorian gazed between the two men—Dameron still on the ground, staring up at him in a fear masked only with confusion, and the companion across the way gazing at him with cold, hard eyes.

Mando wasn’t sure exactly what he’d stumbled into, but he had caught both men off guard and unaware. This was unusual. Usually whenever he came to collect a bounty, _live_ bounty at least had an inkling why he was there. These two were hiding that understanding, or utterly lost. Strangely, though, the Mandalorian noted the companion hadn’t asked him to relinquish his weapon—just that he release Dameron.

That showed an intriguing mark of intelligence on his part. A small part of him respected that.

The Mandalorian did something entirely unexpected of him. He holstered his blaster. He retracted the grappling hook, letting it catch against Dameron’s pant leg as it snapped back to the vambrace.

Dameron huffed in relief, his head dropping back to the ground as he caught his breath. “You’re a _Mandalorian_?”

The helmet tilted down toward Dameron. Liquid brown eyes stared up at him in a bit of wonder.

“My parents used to tell me stories about you guys when I was a kid!”

 _He’s one of_ those _,_ Mando thought to himself with some disdain, glancing back up to the companion. But Dameron kept speaking. “This day is really panning out to be something else.”

The companion didn’t budge, uninterested in the Mandalorian himself, but his purpose on the planet. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Collecting a bounty,” the Mandalorian replied smoothly.

“A bounty? On Geezor? Why attack _us_ , then? We have no quarrel with you.”

The bounty hunter gestured to Dameron laid out in the dirt. The men frowned, Dameron staring back at his companion. “That makes no sense! I just _got_ here,” Dameron exclaimed. “I _can’t_ have a bounty!”

But the companion ignored Dameron almost completely. “Who ordered the bounty?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“But you _know_.”

The Mandalorian hesitated. “Republic senator, for damages.”

Dameron repeated his words under his breath, thick eyebrows pulling together as his eyes narrowed. He hauled himself upright, dabbing at his chin again to check the red dripping from it.

“Mandalorian,” the companion addressed him, stepping closer to him as he lowered his weapon somewhat. “This man… he doesn’t belong here. It is… difficult to explain, but… this _can’t_ be the person you’re after.”

 _Likely story,_ Mando thought to himself with an inkling of sarcasm. With an inward sigh, he reached into his pocket for cuffs, snapping them over Dameron’s wrist.

“What-” Dameron stammered. “Cuffs _again_? _What is it with you people and cuffs?!_ ”

“You’re the subject of this tracking chip,” Mando repeated.

“We just established that _I don’t belong here_.”

Mando slipped the tracking fob from his pocket, holding it up. “For someone who claims not to ‘belong here’, you look the same as the man I’m after.”

“Give me that damn fob,” Dameron demanded, stumbling upright onto his feet and snatching the fob from the Mandalorian. He thumbed it on, viewing the same information Mando had been for the last few days. The man did a visual double-take, his eyes widening at the information. “Holy kriff. I can’t believe dad never told me a Mandalorian hunted him.”

“Your father?” the companion called, holstering his blaster.

“Yeah—Kes Dameron,” he explained, handing Mando the fob back and gesturing to himself. “I’m not Kes, I’m _Poe_. Sure, I’m the spitting image of him, but we’re not the _same_!”

Mando gave a pensive stare back at him, unmoving in his stance.

Dameron—or, rather, _Poe_ —became frustrated. “Did you _hear_ me? Is your helmet receiving audio?”

“Mandalorian, this man claims to have fallen through a temporal anomaly yesterday. I believe the anomaly is still nearby,” the companion stated, stepping up to them. “Did your tracking equipment… _glitch_? How long have you been on course to Geezor?”

Silence permeated the air between them. Poe gave a concerned glance to his companion, eyes wide as he tried to tug his wrists apart. The cuffs clinked, the only noise to accent the wind grazing over the wheat fields.

The tracking fob _had_ glitched—from Yavin IV to Geezor. It was quite the jump for one person to make in such a short time. And even if Dameron _had_ made that jump, why would an ex-Rebel soldier stand by an Imperial droid as if nothing was wrong? That made no logical sense to the Mandalorian.

His helmet echoed his quiet sigh. “Prove it.”

The companion beamed. “I just need a ship to take us into orbit, run system scans.”

“My ship doesn’t have scientific instruments,” Mando cautioned.

“Beebee-Ate can help with that,” said Dameron, gesturing to the droid carefully picking itself free from the wrecked hull.

The Mandalorian turned back to the two. “Fine. Come with me.”

He began a march back to the _Razor’s Crest_ , Dameron and the companion in tow. The strange ball droid would eventually catch up, Mando was sure. Behind him, Dameron grumbled once more about being stuck in cuffs.


	9. Collision course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian, Poe, and the Mandalorian make a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like the record to state that I am not a pilot and I don't know how coordinates work so I kind of just threw some shit together and hoped people wouldn't notice.

The Mandalorian had ordered them to remain outside his vessel while he inspected it. Or locked up his belongings. Or perhaps both. Cassian wasn’t sure what the Mandalorian was so insistent upon hiding—but it gave the spy time to get his bearings.

Poe Dameron had fallen into Cassian’s path by coincidence. He brought with him a relatively new X-wing, unscathed by their crash-landing, and knowledge of the galaxy’s state of affairs thirty years down the line. The pilot was _utterly convinced_ he was telling Cassian the truth, and he’d done nothing to otherwise suggest he was impaired in some manner. Short of a bruised leg incurred while mucking about their cargo hold mid-crash, he’d gotten off lightly compared to Cassian.

And then there was the matter of his surname.

 _Dameron_.

Cassian was positive he’d heard the name before. He just couldn’t recall _where_ , or even _when_ … until the Mandalorian bounty hunter revealed his purpose on Geezor.

The Mandalorian was hunting for a _Kes Dameron_ (a name Cassian _did_ know), ordered by a _Republic senator_.

_How interesting._

His back ached from where the Mandalorian had slammed him into Geezor’s unforgiving rocky ground, his knees all scraped up. He’d followed the bounty hunter without question—if he wanted answers, the man’s ship was the best way to retrieve them. At the moment, too many variables weren’t adding up. Poe Dameron falls through a temporal anomaly thirty years in the future, just in time to encounter a Mandalorian bounty hunter looking for his father, Kes? 

Cassian Andor wasn’t one to believe in coincidences.

“What do you think he’s doing in there,” Poe muttered, his bound hands pressing into the skin below his chin, pulling them away every so often to check if he was still bleeding. He wasn’t. “Do you think he’s cleaning up or something?”

Cassian grimaced, shuffling on his feet. He wasn’t sure _what_ to make of the Mandalorian’s hesitation to allow them aboard, but frankly, he didn’t give a damn. He had many questions about the Mandalorian’s ship as it was—the model was new, if he recalled correctly, yet this vessel looked like it’d been torn apart and put back together again. Either the bounty hunter had seen many combat skirmishes (unlikely, since the ship didn’t appear equipped very equipped for that right now) or something _else_ was going on.

If they could get back into space, have BB-8 run those scans, he was fine with the Mandalorian hiding whatever he wanted to hide.

“Accept his hospitality,” Cassian warned. “We need his ship.”

Poe rose an eyebrow, raising and nodding to his cuffed hands—a gesture of the Mandalorian’s ‘hospitality’.

“Just cooperate,” the spy huffed. He thumbed around his pocket for his comm link, paging K-2SO. “Kay? Kay, are you there?”

He was met with silence.

“You sure he’s okay? He took a pretty nasty hit,” said Poe.

“He’s fine. He’s just being-”

“ _I’m not talking to you,_ ” came the voice of one very upset ex-Imperial droid. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“I’m _sorry_. We had little choice.”

“ _So I should be thankful you even_ bothered _to check on me?_ ”

“Kay-”

“ _Don’t you ‘Kay’ me!”_ exclaimed the droid. “ _I’m down one arm thanks to your armoured friend—do you know how long it will take to find a replacement?_ ”

“Days?”

“Days- _I mean-”_ K-2 made a verbal show of ‘coughing’. “ _Yes. Days._ ”

“I’m sorry you got caught up in our… _tiff_ , but I need you on standby. Start pulling parts from the _Rogue Star_ you think might help repair that X-wing. I’ll contact you when we return.”

He closed the com channel, leaving K-2 no room for further complaint.

The ramp of the Mandalorian’s ship hissed, extending out to the ground once more. The bounty hunter stood at the top and gestured for them to enter. “Touch nothing,” he said.

Cassian and Poe nodded. The pilot made a show of glancing around, taking in as much of the ship as possible. Cassian followed the bounty hunter to the cockpit, no questions asked.

He dropped into a seat behind the bounty hunter, grateful at the chance to take a seat after so long standing. His neck—and now his shoulders and back—protested movement. After the _Rogue Star’_ s crash, he was pushing himself too hard. Poe remained standing, still getting a good look at the ship’s controls.

“How far?” the Mandalorian asked.

Poe glanced at Cassian for the answer. _Right_ , Cassian thought to himself. Poe had been knocked unconscious during the trip. And cuffed to a bed while they tried to determine who he was.

“Follow my ship’s ion trail off-world.”

The bounty hunter began the ship’s pre-flight sequence, shuddering as it lifted from the ground. A twinge radiated up the side of Cassian’s neck—earning a sympathetic glance from Poe when he rubbed at it.

* * *

“It looks… _smaller_.”

The vicious cloud was widespread. Grey puffs dimmed the illumination of the stars far on the other side, giving the area of dusty look. It did not appear dense—only chaotic swirls expanding across darkness, lightning cracking through them. When K-2SO piloted them through it, Cassian hadn’t had the time to really get a good look at its appearance. He didn’t appear to miss much. Frankly, he didn’t really want to get any closer.

“It looks the same,” Cassian countered. “Or, at least, I _think_ it does.”

“Alright, Beebee-Ate,” Poe said to the small droid. “Tell us what you know.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet turned ever so slightly toward the droid. Cassian couldn’t determine whether it was curiosity or caution. His gloved hands remained firmly on his ship’s controls, and he said nothing while BB-8 worked. The spy’s eyebrows pulled together, bottom eyelid twitching when BB-8 started whistling in its odd abbreviated binary.

“Whoa,” Poe stuttered toward BB-8. “Slow down. Radiation?”

The unit whistled again—though this time, Cassian could keep up. “Chronometric radiation,” he said. The droid expressed its approval at his translation, performing its impression of a nod.

“Chronometric radiation… means _time travel_ , right? That’s not a made-up thing?”

“No. There was work done, many years ago by the Republic, theorising potential travel between specific points in time.”

Poe gaped. “…right.”

“It was abandoned fairly quickly. Man does not have the technology to manipulate _time itself_. The Jedi once considered it a _talent_ of theirs, but… they shared no information, and their practises were theorised never to involve matter or radiation,” the spy explained. He had to avoid eye-rolling at a term coined by resistance fighters that spoke of the subject—‘space magic’ didn’t really have a place in Cassian’s vocabulary. He believed, with little doubt, that everything could be explained. “But chronometric radiation was at least _documented—_ it’s a natural phenomenon. Its discovery to put to rest distress regarding pilots going missing. Mysterious rumours. Those kinds of things.”

“ _Exactly what happened to me_ ‘things’,” the pilot said bluntly. “So… what, I can just fly back through it and end up back in _my_ time?”

Cassian had opened his mouth to respond, but BB-8 chirped again, rather urgently. “Picking up an old Imperial signal,” Poe relayed. Cassian’s chest tightened. “Not a ship, though. A beacon of some kind.”

“Communications beacon?” asked the Mandalorian—the first he’d spoken since they’d taken off.

“No, it’s… navigational?”

Cassian rubbed at his chin. He’d never heard of the Empire needing a navigational beacon. The Geezor system wasn’t important by any stretch of the imagination. It lacked any kind of resource viable for the Empire and held no population worth exploiting. It wasn’t exactly dense in navigational dangers, either—aside from this radiation cloud, maybe.

…could the Empire be exploiting the cloud?

“We haven’t encountered any imperial vessels yet,” Cassian intoned to the Mandalorian. “It’s worth the risk to investigate.”

He was met with silence. After a moment of what Cassian hoped was contemplation, the bounty hunter flicked at his control panel. The ship’s engines started once more, and they changed course. They flew alongside the cloud, a large breadth of space between it and the ship keeping them firmly out of harm's way.

There, just in the distance, was the imperial beacon BB-8 had spoken about. The large cylindrical object had antennae pointed directly toward the cloud. Automatic thrusters appeared to keep it in alignment with the phenomenon.

It was also severely dented in its middle. Further inspection gave the three sight to electrical sparks zipping across its panelling.

“I would bet all my available credits,” Poe drawled with a smile spreading across his face, “ _that_ was the thing you hit.”

Cassian thought back to the damage on the _Rogue Star_ ’s wing, of a different calibre than the damage caused by the crash landing. They hadn’t been able to determine what they collided with, but K-2SO was sure it hadn’t been another ship. Cassian wouldn’t be able to confirm without bringing the beacon aboard, but it was entirely possible the component Poe pulled from the _Rogue Star_ belonged to this beacon. Its thrusters would have brought it back into alignment with the storm after the collision.

But what was its purpose here?

“Beebee-Ate,” Cassian turned to the droid. “Is the beacon broadcasting?”

It nodded, whistling what sounded like coordinates—though they were three sequences too long to be anywhere Cassian recognised. He asked the droid to repeat the digits again, but they were the same—the droid wasn’t wrong. Cassian gave a frustrated huff, his shoulders heavy as he leaned back in his chair.

“We base piloting coordinates on the X, Y, and Z axis of the galaxy, so… these are-”

“Incorrect,” muttered Cassian behind closed eyes. His teeth clenched as a muscle in his neck spasmed. “They’re too long.”

“No- Cassian, these aren’t _spatial_ coordinates. This thing is parked next to a chronometric radiation cloud—these must be _temporal_ coordinates. Buddy, repeat the sequence.”

And so BB-8 did, Poe following the binary with an explanation of year, month and day (the three sequences Cassian had assumed to be the spatial coordinates), followed by hour, minute, and second.

“I don’t get it,” Poe muttered. “I thought this morning you said it was 7976.”

Cassian briefly cracked an eye open. “It _is_ 7976.”

“If my math is right, this beacon is broadcasting coordinates for-” he froze for a moment, a shudder running across the pilot’s chest. “ _7987_.”

The spy’s eyes opened wide at that information. He shot upright in his chair, staring through the window toward the beacon outside. “It might have changed the coordinates recently?”

The pilot failed to answer. He looked shell-shocked, brown eyes staring far away as his bound hands clutched at a small object on a chain around his neck—a ring, maybe. Cassian hadn’t noticed it before, but it had relevant sentimental value to the pilot now.

The Mandalorian made a small, amused huff under his helmet. That was all Cassian needed to connect the dots. This ship—how it was new, yet old… it fit the bill of a vessel eleven years in service. This would also explain why they hadn’t been able to contact any Rebellion outpost nearby. If the war had ended between then and now, they may have moved on.

”…it’s us, too. Kaytoo and I… were… pulled out of our time?” he asked the bounty hunter.

The helmet turned to him. No words were spoken.

“Then… this beacon-”

“Can get us back,” Poe hissed. He blinked, swallowing. He dropped his hands away from the chain around his neck.

“This means the Empire is capable of temporal travel,” Cassian breathed. “This takes precedence, Poe. I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to get this back to the Rebellion. Immediately.”

“ _I need to go home!”_

“And once we deliver you and this information to my superiors, I will personally see to it.”

“What happened to _preserving the timeline_?”

Cassian struck him with a sharp, cold look. “You are a member of an evolved rebellion, are you not? This information can help us end our war decades before yours even begins! With this technology, we can turn the tide!”

“Cassian— _my war is over_!” Poe exclaimed. “I can’t just _undo_ everything we did, everything we worked for! The people we lost- how does this make their sacrifices worth anything?”

“Think about it. If the Rebellion goes back, corrects the mistakes the Republic made, your people won’t be sacrificed _in the first place_.”

Poe’s mouth snapped shut, his eyebrows tight in their place. He was at a loss. _Good_ , Cassian thought. This was the logical course.

He turned his attention back to the Mandalorian. “If we alter the coordinates, you can take us-”

“I’m not taking you anywhere.”

Hearing him speak was a shock to Cassian’s system. Even Poe was startled. “Holy kriff he spoke more than two words.”

Cassian ignored him, his focus only on the armoured man at the pilot’s controls. “Mandalorian… your people are scattering under the Empire’s weight. They know not who to trust.” The spy leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “We can change what happened, to your people. And to mine.”

“Cassian…” the pilot warned in the background, but the spy and the Mandalorian were locked in a gaze with each other.

Silence permeated the cabin again. But Cassian was _sure_. If they could harness the way the Empire was manipulating this chronometric cloud… they could _fix_ _everything_. They could end the fight, they could _rest_. They could set time _as they liked_. This was a good thing, to exist without the Empire. Without the Republic. To be _independent_.

“I’m not interested,” the Mandalorian said. “Do what you like. I want no part in it.”

Cassian pulled back. So that’s how it would be.

Fine.

“Then we need another ship. The X-wing won’t hold all of us, and it can’t tow the _Rogue Star_.”

A quiet sigh emitted from the helmet. “I know someone nearby that may be of help to you. But that’s where my charity ends.”

“Drop me off back at the X-wing first,” snapped Poe. Cassian turned, raising an eyebrow toward him in query. “Kaytoo will need help making repairs.”


	10. Turn of a droid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe unwittingly plants the seeds of rebellion within K-2SO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I heard some of you wanted another chapter.

_8012_

_7976_

_7979_

_7987_

The numbers repeated themselves. Poe transposed them into as many other calendar years as he could to reconcile the extraordinary _coincidence_ of the dates. It was a psychological _mess_ of confusion and disbelief that powered his hands, welding parts onto the T-85 X-wing and fixing the blown control circuits.

The ring on the chain around Poe’s neck burned against his chest.

_Is it possible…?_

No.

 _It’s not possible,_ he scolded himself. _Get your head out of the clouds, Dameron_.

But no amount of self-reprimand could mask or alter the innate curiosity he held. Theoretically, he could see her.

He could _talk to her_.

…he could save her…?

But what does that prove? _Hooray, he and the old Resistance could mess with time_. That’s exactly what Cassian wanted, right? But… all those battles, all that hurt… just to be _erased_ at the snap of their fingers? What _else_ could that change? Poe was no scientist, but some things had to happen for a _reason_ , right?

What he wouldn’t do to hear Rey or Finn’s _logic and reasoning_ right about now. He was pulling too much double-time in the _common sense_ department.

“I have stripped the Rogue Star of all appropriate parts,” K-2SO announced, his bulbous eyes staring at Poe from the other side of the X-wing. It was hard to miss the vitriol dripping from his voice box. “I suppose Cassian intends to leave me behind…”

“No. We have a plan.”

“Really?”

Poe paused, gaping for a moment. “Well... we both have _half_ a plan.”

K-2SO’s stare continued.

The pilot sighed. “Your captain plans to use the temporal anomaly to take the Empire’s new gizmo, _and me_ , back to _your time_. That Mandalorian is getting you guys a ship to do it.”

“And what is _your_ plan?”

“I’m going to take this X-wing and get the hell out of here, as soon as he gets back.”

 _So much for preserving the timeline_ , he thought sourly. That had been Cassian’s original schtick – but of course, now that he potentially had the power to change the course of reality itself to his heart’s desire, Cassian's goal had changed. In the short time Poe had spent with him, Cassian had proven himself a master manipulator. It made sense, really. He was a spy. His plans changed with the influx of new information. Nothing was ever concrete for him.

Cassian observed, considered, and acted on new information.

Poe was very obviously attached to his astromech.

Poe wouldn’t easily leave BB-8 behind during an escape from Geezor.

Cassian made the smart and calculated move of keeping BB-8 on the Mandalorian’s ship.

Poe would have taken K-2SO hostage in retaliation… if it wasn’t for the fact the battle droid only needed to knock him upside the head to stop him. Poe was _bitter_ about it.

…and Poe had just told Cassian’s droid pal that he intended to leave them both. Pending BB-8’s safe return. _Great_.

“And you trust me with that information?”

Poe raised an eyebrow and K-2SO’s query. “Fulcrum and I are at a stand-off. You need me to make repairs to the X-wing to ensure it gets back to your time. It’s too advanced for your piloting subroutines, so you need me alive to pilot it. I want BB-8 back. So, for now, _I assume_ we’re working amicably until Cassian returns.”

K-2SO made a visual motion as if he were pondering the line of thought. “That _does_ accurately reflect our current conundrum.”

“Yes it does,” Poe nodded heavily.

“Why don’t you wish to change the course of history?”

 _There it is_ , Poe sighed. He put the isometric splicer in his hand down onto the X-wing’s hull, leaning against the starcraft. “Because I’ve lost a lot of family and friends.”

“But Cassian intends to save them from death. They won’t know any different.”

“Maybe not,” Poe agreed. “But _I_ will.”

“I believe that is your conscience speaking for you.”

“Probably.”

As curious, as _desperate_ , as Poe was to _maybe_ see his mother again, he recognised the weight of each loss over the years. He’d had to come to terms with it all, as General of the Resistance. Shara Bey was just the beginning of his long list.

He couldn’t just push the ‘reset’ button on that.

It wasn’t his reasoning. It would have been Finn’s too, with Rey standing behind him.

“The Empire, the First Order… I’m sure people have thought _if only I could turn back time and stop this from happening_. But that’s not _reality_ , Kaytoo. Cassian is thinking about the big picture – and that’s great, but what about individuals? What about people like my partner? My Jedi friend? My wing-man? Call me selfish, but I wouldn’t have met all these people without the First Order.”

K-2SO gave a grim nod. “I _do_ find that answer selfish.”

“I know first-hand the devastation Cassian wants to prevent and I _always_ think back on what I could have done differently. But this…” he sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s weird Jedi voodoo that we shouldn’t be messing with. It’s not how we should do things.”

“Do you have an alternative?”

“We send ourselves back to where we belong. No one goes to _change any times_ ,” Poe picked his tool back up, priming the isolinear arrays. “Let fate and the Force duke it out like they have for the last few thousand years.”

“What about me and Cassian?”

Poe’s hands paused. His jaded eyes flickered up to the battle droid, his lips crinkling downward. “Honestly? I don’t know, Kay.”

“You didn’t know who we were when you woke.”

“No. I only know about the Fulcrum codename,” Poe breathed. “And that could mean anything for you. Could mean you perished in battle, but it could also mean you retire on some faraway world sipping yippers on a beach.”

Though he knew, realistically, the pair’s escapades as a spy would likely have landed him in the former scenario. The Fulcrum codename had been made infamous by people like Ahsoka Tano – Tano, a notable Force user, was a hard figure to contend with. Cassian’s name might have simply slipped through history's cracks.

Possible. But… probably unlikely. That was reality.

The more Poe thought about it, the more he wondered whether Cassian was actually being motivated by his self-preservation, and not for the Rebellion.

“Alright,” K-2SO suddenly announced. He marched away from the X-wing, back to the remains of his crashed vessel. Poe stares after him.

“Huh?”

“I’ll help you,” the droid called, throwing an arm up.

Poe almost dropped his tool. He scrambled away from the X-wing, limping as he rushes to catch K-2SO. “ _Help me_?”

“Help you escape.”

The pilot gaped. “Aren’t you programmed to obey Cassian?”

“I am also programmed to preserve the Rebellion in the event Cassian is compromised. And I believe he is compromised.”

“’Compromised’?”

“He is rather injured.”

Poe tripped, stumbling as he rounded K-2SO to stop in front of him. “You’re gonna help me? Just like that?”

“Sometimes I hate to admit it, but Cassian is my friend,” K-2SO stated. “His stated plan does not have a high probability of success. And our orders were to return home.”

The droid pushed past Poe, stepping onto the _Rogue Star_.

“Besides,” K-2SO added, “Temporal manipulation ruins strategic analysis.”


	11. A spectre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando takes Cassian to someone who has a ship they're willing to part with.

Poe’s ball-astromech stared at him for the entire journey. Cassian presumed this was its version of silent treatment – he had been adamant BB-8 stay with him. It was a calculated move on his part: Poe was insistent on returning to his own time, and he might just attempt escape to avoid going _backward_ with Cassian. The spy was banking on his staying put to reclaim his droid, but in the event the bond between them was something Cassian’s tired mind had simply conjured out of nothing and Poe attempted to leave _without_ the astromech, then BB-8 alone would serve as information for the Rebellion well enough.

Poe hadn’t taken Cassian’s move well at all. The Mandalorian, as always, remained utterly silent as K-2SO dragged the X-wing pilot off his ship.

Their trip to a planet several parsecs away from Geezor was fraught with silence. The reprieve of conversation allowed Cassian to bask in the searing pain in his back, shoulders and neck. It was something he clung to; a grounding force in this otherwise ludicrous situation. He had tried to use it to sink into sleep. He had no idea where the Mandalorian was taking him, or even when they might get there. But rest eluded him.

During their trip, BB-8’s little antenna stuck out as it attempted to scan the Mandalorian’s ship, but it was promptly scolded by the bounty hunter. In fact, any time BB-8 moved even an inch out of place, the Mandalorian hissed at it. The spy couldn’t determine whether it was just a reaction to a foreign droid on his ship, or whether it was something _deeper_. If he had to guess, he would have picked the latter.

Cassian wondered if it had attempted to contact Poe. Poe _did_ have an X-wing, even if it was damaged. What were the chances he could repair it in record time and come take BB-8 back by force?

 _Low_ , Cassian mused. Once Poe completed his repairs, K-2SO would likely place him back under arrest until Cassian returned. Poe might have been quick on his feet, but he hadn’t directly dealt with Kaytoo.

Finally, after what felt like hours, BB-8 whistled his broken binary. They were approaching a planet.

 _Lothal_.

Cassian’s eyebrow crinkled upward. He made a show of leaning forward, resting his hands on his knees as a pained hiss escaped his teeth. “Why Lothal?” he asked the Mandalorian.

The answer that emitted from the helmet was short and curt. “A contact owes me a favour. She may have a ship for you.”

“Owes you?”

The Mandalorian ignored him, and all pretence of conversation dropped once more.

The ship landed in on a wispy brown surface, kicking up dust under the engine’s vacuum. Lothal appeared to be bred from the same material as Geezor. Its fields bore pale yellow wisps that leaned in unison at the slightest puff of wind.

They’d landed right next to a large tower – communications, maybe. It’d seen some renovations recently, a miscoloured metal platform added just a storey high from the ground that served as the deck for a door.

The Mandalorian rose from his chair. Cassian half-expected him to drawl some order to _stay put_ , but he remained silent (as expected). Curiosity powered Cassian’s movements, fuelling his ability to get out of his chair. Every muscle in his torso protested. At least his legs were still able to carry his weight.

He followed the armoured man silently. The wind kicked at the back of his jacket, dust blowing across his eyes. A highway led itself into town, though it was devoid of any traffic or signs of life.

His knowledge of Lothal was exhaustive, but he was certain it used to be more populated.

“It’s polite to call ahead before landing here.”

The spy looked up to find two blasters trained at them from above. Their wielder was a woman who stared down at the men with narrowed honey brown eyes, a slight grin trained across their lips. Gold and white tints peeked through her black hair, clipped short around the ears with a long fringe pushed across to the side.

The longer Cassian stared, the longer he recognised Mandalorian features. Along with her suspiciously unique blasters, she wore a minimal armour set, including a chest plate marred with splotches of paint. He’d bet credits it was beskar. The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitched downward.

“Figures you would take us to _another_ Mandalorian…” Cassian muttered, raising his hands carefully.

The Mandalorian ( _Cassian’s_ Mandalorian) turned to peer at the spy for a moment. If Cassian hadn’t known any better, he would have said he was being judged. “This man needs your assistance,” he called to their ‘host’.

“Yeah? What _kind_ of assistance?”

“A ship. One you’re prepared to part with permanently.”

The black-haired Mandalorian twirled the blasters before replacing them into their holsters. Cassian lowered his hands. “What have you dragged to our doorstep?”

Before the Mandalorian could explain, Cassian stepped forward. “What do you know about temporal anomalies?”

The grin on her face dropped to reveal something more… _knowing_. She raised her chin, crossing her arms. “I know enough.”

“Then you know if people were here from the past or the future, they’d need to return home immediately.”

Her eyes regarded him for a moment, thumb tapping against her upper arm. Cassian glanced to the other Mandalorian, but he, too, was locked in a solemn stare with their host.

“I’ll give you a ship,” she finally stated. “But while you’re a fish out of water, you stay in my sight for as long as you’re on Lothal.”

“Yes,” Cassian agreed.

“That goes for you too, _Mando_ ,” the woman turned, pressing a keypad to open the door. “Come on up. Let's talk about how you’re getting back.”

The Mandalorian -- now 'Mando', apparently -- gave a quiet _hmph_. He brushed past Cassian, approaching the ladder with the spy in tow. But there were still so many unanswered questions.

"Who is she, Mandalorian?" Cassian asked.

"Right now, she's a friend."

Vague, but his tone held enough information for Cassian to make some theories. He doubted the idea she was an old flame of some kind -- their exchange seemed too terse for that, too brief. Yet her voice, while casual, had been littered with sarcasm. So she has held a conversation with him, productive or otherwise. Maybe they encountered each other during a conflict? Mando hadn't seemed very phased by being on the dangerous side of her blasters...

But earlier, Mando said _she_ owes _him_. 

_What have you dragged to our doorstep?_

_Our_ doorstep? Cassian frowned as he climbed the ladder behind Mando. The implication was this woman wasn't alone, yet she was taking responsibility for their arrival.

His neck spasmed as he pulled himself up onto the deck, and he dug his fingers into the muscle. 

He couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something important.

**Author's Note:**

> [I've got a Tumblr!](https://galaxyistyping.tumblr.com/) There you can find updates to this fic and other pieces I've written!


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